Hiding
by Joker88
Summary: Whatch' gonna do when the Joker comes for you... Don't read unless you've read my other one-shots. This one is not as good. R&R please. BTW This is just a break from the usual creeps. Okay changed the ending...


_**'Kay yet another Joker 1-shot, kill the main character, not to kill the main character, kill, don't kill, kill... So many wonderful choices...**_

Clair's on the couch with the Joker. She's being quiet for once, a wise choice.

Mom's shaking and that scares me more than anything. I'm supposed to be the scared-y cat of the family. Clair says our genes got switched in mom's womb. I mean, I'm older, and I'm a boy, so I shouldn't be the one cowering in the seat in the roller coater rides, I should be the one who whoops and raises their hands. But there is one person tougher than Clair and thats Mom.

She warned me, she told me to get under the dresser.

My back aches from being compressed into such a tight spot. My hands are clasped around my knees and my head is tilted to the side so avoid the ornate and uncomfortable woodwork around the small opening which I had squeezed into.

Dad hasn't come home in four days and Mom had marched on, even tougher than before. But the doorbell had rung and she had suddenly lost it. Pushed me under this stupid dresser and yelled for Clair.

But she had been too late, Clair was listening to music, and didn't realize what was going on until the clown had bashed through her door which had those ridiculous signs on it. "Fuck Off" "Keep Out"

Like that would stop him. It was ironic the way he had so carelessly dragged her into the living room by her hair, We never could get her to go anywhere near this place. She was claustrophobic. The low ceilings and dark walls frightened her like nothing else had.

Just as well that I'm the one stuck under the furniture.

The Joker was talking, his nasal voice and scarred moth distorting the words. His speech limped, lilted and dragged, lending odd emphasis to the syllables that blurred in my ears.

As much as I tried I couldn't understand him. One ear was pressed to the carpet the other was folded, adding pain to my stockpile of agony.

My nose itched, I couldn't scratch it. My foot hurt but I didn't dare move it.

I found it odd that I was thinking of myself when my family was sitting vulnerable, with the eyes of a psychotic animal on them.

I'm skinny, no muscle, no where for muscle to cling to. I have long hair, something that I refuse to be cut. What can I do against him. Nothing.

Of course if I were a braver, better person I would unfold myself from this position stand up and defend my mother and sister.

But I am a weakling, I'm a failure, I'm a coward, I am nothing.

How could I ever run the mob after my dad dies. Perhaps he is dead. Mom told him never to bring work home, but sometimes it can't be helped.

I know I'm a disappointment to him, he wanted a big, fearless, ruthless thug for a son, someone who would bully and cheat his way in the world. Only I seemed to be rather good at math.

The Joker is holding something shiny up to Clair, his hand still gripping a handfull of her shiny brown hair.

Brown, like mine.

My mom is making funny noises, her back ridged, taught. I can see the straining muscles in her neck, It looked like she was having a seizure.

I was a disappointment to her too. Not athletic, not particularly brilliant. I was mediocre to the last. Not good enough, never good enough.

Even Clair was ashamed of me. I had enough girlfriends that hated her, enough friends that she didn't approve of...

So I shouldn't care that the clown had a knife to her throat. I shouldn't care that He was rumpling that hair. I shouldn't Care that my father wasn't going to come home.

But I did.

I'd like to say that I got up and died like a man, that I died before my sister, that I tried.

I can say nothing of the sort.

I didn't even close my eyes. I stayed underneath that stupid dresser. I tried not to listen to the screams.

He was asking something about my father, something about a shipment, not seeming to look at what he was doing. And I saw it all

I won't describe what he did with that knife, I won't try to explain the horrific images that were burned into my brain.

My mother didn't say anything, didn't try to lie, didn't try to take her daughters pain away.

She just sat, her hands clasped in her lap, staring at the man who was doing this.

I was going to be sick.

But I didn't, he killed her eventually.

Thank God.

I can't believe I'm thinking that.

But her screams...

He killed my mother fast, I think she was expecting the same treatment as her daughter.

There was blood all over the stone tiles, spilling red across the brown. A trail made it's way through the cracks and slid against my temple.

I tried to guess if it was my mother's blood or Clair's.

I could see the Joker's legs, purple ending in purple shoes with pointed toes.

There was a wet clicking sound as he walked toward where I was hiding. Those horrible shoes grew in size till they were an inch from my knee.

Then he knelt, being careful to avoid the blood drying o the floor.

I knew what was happening next and I closed my eyes, If I couldn't see him, the He might not see me.

I am still a child before him.

And I could still hear Clair's screams.

Oh, God...

I opened my eyes and faced that smile, trying to go to death like the man that my father wanted.

He was smiling, his eyes twinkling merrily in the darkness beneath the dresser.

"Oh, hello there," The Joker said, his smile turning dangerous. "I heard about you mother and sister." His mouth turned down in mock sympathy, but his scars still smiled.

I whimpered.

"Oh, don't do that. Is it the scars?"

I said nothing, my mind freezing up with fear.

"You're a quiet one I see, Like your mother. Well, I'll tell you what. If you promise to be a good boy and stay here, I'll let you live. Does that sound fine?"

I was shaking, like my mother, trying not to show the terror that was blinding me. I didn't understand the words coming from the freaks mouth, all I could understand was that Mom was dead, Clair was dead. Dad was gone.

That hurt worse, because the Joker was looking for information, information that only my dad had. Either he was dead or had run away, which was far more likely.

He had left his family to fend for itself.

I was alone.

Soon to be dead myself.

There was a knife at my throat. I was focused on where it caressed my skin. I have never been so aware of the desperate racing of my heart, nor the shallow panting breaths that ached in my chest.

I was hyperventilating, couldn't get enough oxygen into my lungs.

Damn him.

_Fuck._

And that stuck in my mind, repeated endlessly, with each beat of my heart there came that disbelieving, angry word.

_Fuck._

_Dammit._

I seemed to find bravery in the foul language.

"...David, but I disagree." I snapped back to what he was saying, my mind coming back from the terror that had paralyzed me.

He new my name.

_Fuck_

"The cost of living seems so high nowadays," He laughed, and I had the strangest urge to join in. Maybe it was the shock, or the madness that had started to creep into the edges of my mind, but suddenly I just wanted to laugh until my jaw ached and my throat was raw.

_Fuck_

But I didn't.

"So I trust you'll give this message to your Daddy, are you ready?"

_F-_

I felt a dull thump on the back of my head, and darkness consumed me.

I don't know how much time passed, there was pain, and fear, and the feeling of being incomprehensibly small.

And then I awoke, there were people in black suits everywhere, taking pictures, stepping over bodies.

For one blessed moment I forgot about everything, couldn't remember what happened.

And then It came rushing back.

And I screamed.

_"Jesus Christ he's alive!" _

_"Someone get a paramedic and an ambulance. Move it!"_

All these murmurs dull whispers in my head, mixed with** his **voice. My chest hurt. It was on fire.

And then blessed blackness again.

_**Six months later**_

I was out, the hospital had let me go, not willingly. I had to bribe a guard and a nurse,but I got out.

I was still wearing my scrubs, the ones with The front cut out so it wouldn't irritate my scars.

Thinking about them I rubbed my had over them self-consciously.

The doctors had wanted to have them removed, they said they could do it with paste and time.

I didn't let them. I had picked at the scabs and blood, pulling them off, emphasizing the words carved into my skin. The note to my father.

Eventually they had tied my arms to the bed and sedated me.

As if that would work.

But I was free and the scars glowed in the light, silver and pink still puckered from surgery and stitches, you could still see the message.

_WANT TO MEDDLE AGAIN? _

_ASK YOUR SON._

_HEHE, YOUR DAUGHTER WAS _

_A SCREAM._

The handwriting was that of a child, in messy block letters the Joker had carved the memory into my skin.

I laughed and embraced the sky. I was standing on the top of Gotham Mercy Central Hospital, my scrubs flapping in the strong air current.

I was going to get back my own, and I would start with my father.

Because i was no longer afraid.

_**Okay, I admit. Bad ending, but I couldn't figure out how I should finish it. I came up with a dozen ways but they all seemed to gruesome... Oh well. **_

_**Are there any volunteers who would like to beta read for me?**_


End file.
